


A Shallow Bed to Lie In

by ImperialEvolution



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Excessive amount of prose, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, M/M, Second Person, Warren is a mess, ehhhhh, it's mostly gen, just like, one line that is Warren being gay, so I'm gonna tag is gen and m/m because, which is rather fitting to be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 10:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialEvolution/pseuds/ImperialEvolution
Summary: Sleep is for the weak. And you, Warren, are so so weak now.





	A Shallow Bed to Lie In

Sleep has always been a concept you’ve struggled with. Even as a child, staying up until your shoulders shook and your breath clouded with the Chicago smog as you sought Orion amongst the light pollution seemed like the favourable alternative to that faux death. Insomnia is not a word you like to use, it weighs too heavy on your tongue and has far more connotations than you find agreeable, none of which you particularly enjoy.

That being said, there are nights like this one, when that restlessness settles in your tired bones and you can't stay still long enough to sleep. There is nothing special about this particular motel room, save the quiet. The night feels even more dead than the man you shot point blank five hours ago.

There is altogether nothing special about the man who lies in the next bed over from you. There is nothing special about his sparking fingertips and vibrant eyes, nor even the scar at his temple.

There is nothing special about Special Operative Daniel Jacobi, save the fact you find him inherently interesting.

So few people can catch your attention and truly hold it for more than a few seconds before your eyes move to the more sharper looking of your knives that lie in your kitchen drawer and in the duffel bag under the bed. But this flame wreathed boy, he sunk his teeth into that attention span, sticking for reasons that escape you.

It's not, of course, because of Jacobi that you can't sleep. Obviously. The idea that his steady breathing and sleep softened claws are so much more beautiful than your dreams is ridiculous.

 _Isn't it_ , Warren?

It's for precisely that reason that you _don't_ kill valuable time listening to his soft snores and try to imagine his pulse on the pillow next to you, the sink of the mattress under his vulnerable body.

Alana Maxwell sparks your interest in an entirely different way. She's a lot like you, you think, in her fear of death and her silver snake's tongue.

She doesn't sleep either. You see it in the dark under her eyes and how she keeps an iron grip on whatever surface is near enough when she stands too quickly. She tries to mask it of course, but she can’t hide from you. Despite all this, it only fully renders in your mind when you find her, sitting barefoot and cross-legged on the fire escape, hair pooled around her shoulders.

Her phone rests loose in her grip, her empty eyes tipped toward the void and flaming spheres of plasma above you.

"I'd like to go there one day," she whispers, as you join her outside, the Arizona heat glueing your singlet to the nape of your neck.

You hum in response. "It's very pretty out there."

She shoots you a wide-eyed look. "You've been?"

You smile at her disbelief. She doesn’t believe a damn word you say. You respect that, to a degree.

(She calls you out on your bullshit, something rare indeed. Working with Jacobi for so long has softened you, so you respect that too.

Doesn’t mean you can’t bitch about it though.)

"Of course. It's what Goddard is best known for, after all."

Maxwell smiles, one of the more genuine looks she's thrown your way that isn't stained with outrage.

Maxwell eventually decides the heat is too much for her adrenaline drained body at around one in the morning, after listening patiently to your intricate story of science and red stars, her drowsy, shadowed eyes focused on the stars.

"Goodnight, sir," she whispers, slipping past you.

"Goodnight, Doctor," you whisper back, choking back the _Alana_ that tastes like good, cheap coffee on your tongue.

Another night, far from Arizona. Maxwell and Jacobi are curled around each other on your couch. You watch them, not entirely separate—they both know you’re there, after all—but you aren't one of them.

Maxwell's head is in Jacobi's lap, her hands curled in front of her. Jacobi's gentle, absent-minded playing with her hair is the only thing telling you he's still awake. His head tilted back to the ceiling, Jacobi watches you through his eyelashes.

Unfortunately for you, you’re sleep deprived enough not to scold yourself for staring. (He's so damn pretty.)

Jacobi pats the seat next to him, soft with his fingers. Despite yourself, you stand. Jacobi's eyes don't stray from you, and you decide that you rather like it that way.

He moves his hand as you sit next to him, leaning into your shoulder, his hand finding its place around your wrist.

It shouldn't set your bones alight.

Jacobi's breath is soft on your collarbones, his head a warm and constant weight on your shoulder. It's. Nice.

It's nice.

You shift, slinging an arm around Jacobi's shoulders. You can't help the soft hum of contentment at the back of your throat.

Oh Warren, you  _idiot_. You  _moron_ , they’ve made you  _soft_. You know now, listening to Alana breathe, your arm around Daniel’s shoulders, that you’d trade your life for them in a _heartbeat_. In this heartbeat, however, you don’t need to. You can stay quiet and sleep with the two of them.

You close your eyes for a second, resting your head on Jacobi's, and, for whatever reason, the temporary death comes quickly to you.

People—namely Rachel—like to call them your pets, which, while it might not seem entirely inaccurate, you despise. You don’t  _own_ them, for one, and they’re not  _pets_.

~~They’re family.~~

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, I would say hit me up on tumblr but it's kinda imploding soooo?


End file.
